Further tales of The Love Boat

The road to the Love Boat is fraught with danger and excitement.

We continue now with the fifth instalment of my Caribbean cruise saga. After a stress-filled shore visit in Cozumel and trying to get the tires inflated on my bedazzled mobility scooter, Queerteeny, I needed some downtime, so I went out onto the balcony of our state room to enjoy the view of the ocean. Luckily, I was just in time to watch the dock workers unmoor the ship. It was very interesting to watch them detach the mooring lines from the pier and cast them back out to the ship. I was leaning out over the balcony so that I could get a good glimpse of a really hunky dock worker with bulging biceps wearing nothing but a sexy tan underneath his orange reflective vest, directly below my balcony.

Just then, I thought I heard a man’s voice calling my name. Immediately, I look down at the sexy hunk, but how could he know my name? Then I looked to the right toward the front of the ship; there was no one in sight. I craned my neck to the left, and I did see someone also out on their balcony, but it was a woman, so it couldn’t have been her. Again, I heard my name being called. I began to wonder if I was beginning to get a little cabin fever, thus hearing the voices of the ocean sirens calling to me. Of course, it would be next to impossible to listen to the sirens’ call without succumbing to their allure. Or perhaps it’s just been too long since I’ve had bumped uglies with anyone, that my hopes were unnaturally high. After about the fourth time my name was called, it seemed as if the voice was not coming from the water but instead was descending upon me from the heavens. I felt a lump of panic grip my heart as I thought that I was not quite ready to meet Jesus, and I surely didn’t want a burial at sea. Salt water is not nice to sequins, and I’m quite sure that the sharks would not demonstrate an appropriate level of awe and delight over my beehive hair.

So, expecting to see our lord and savior descending from the heavens to fetch me, I turned around and looked skyward. After scanning the clouds for Jesus, I noticed a couple of guys from Salt Lake on a balcony about ten decks above me calling my name. A great wave of relief washed over me as it began to become apparent that I was not going to expire immediately. I also felt some regret that the voice was not from a siren, or at the very least the hunky dock worker.

Our next port of call was in Honduras. This time, we happened to park right next to one of the large ships that can hold up to 7,000 people. I thought our ship was large, but that ship was at least twice the size. It was then that I heard the fog horns on our ship loudly sound out the theme from “The Love Boat” television series. Apparently, our captain was a size queen.

This port was very nice. It had many nice shops and attractions. Several of us from Salt Lake had booked a shore excursion to see a butterfly pavilion so we headed for a bus that was waiting for us. After some huffing and puffing, the driver and I were able to load Queerteeny onto the bus. The road to the butterflies was steep and winding, and it was necessary for me to hold on tight to Queerteeny without taking any regard for damaging my Lee Press-On-Nails, lest she make an unscheduled departure out of the bus door.

We arrived at the location and got off the bus to be met by a squadron of young Honduran boys waiting to lead the tourists. The butterfly pavilion turned out to be down a very steep hill. I was sure it was going to be too steep for Queerteeny to pull my immense bulkitude back uphill, so I decided to remain at the top and wait with the cute tour guide boys for the rest of our group to return. The boys were studying Queerteeny with great interest. I asked the boy closest to me, who also happened to be the cutest of the bunch, if he wanted to ride Queerteeny around on a flat area. Soon they were all lined up for a turn. Watching their smiles as they mounted the scooter and took off was priceless. All the boys waved a very heartfelt goodbye to me and my scooter as the bus took us away.

Back on the boat, just getting ready to disembark, once again, I was out on the balcony to watch the dock boys. Lo and behold, there came a lone man, running desperately down the length of the pier, obviously late, trying to get to the ship before the gangplank was withdrawn. Am I wicked for hoping he didn’t make it in time? More to come next month.

 This story leaves us with several important questions:

1.    Should I have packed some opera glasses, which I could have used to be able to see the name tag of the cute dock worker?

2.    Did our captain play The Love Boat theme because he was experiencing penis envy of the captain of the larger vessel?

3.    Do I need to install mooring lines in my breasticles to be able to catch some hunky dock boys?

4.    Do those mooring lines need to be attached to a spear gun so I can catch some boys from a distance?

5.    Should I begin using Queerteeny test drives as a lure to attract unsuspecting boys into my clutches?

These and other eternal questions will be answered in future chapters of The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.